Page 2 of Rebound With Me
“I should probably mix something with something else first. Nothing too girly or fruity though.”
“Got it.” He passes behind me and stands to my left, scanning the shelves. The nearness of him is almost electrifying. Some people have that kind of energy—especially in New York City. I’ve been around it, never touched it on purpose. People like that are the third rail, and I’ve always stood as far away as possible from the yellow lines at the subway station. But something in this guy’s eyes tells me he has no interest in hurting me. “Mind if I ask what kind of mood you’re in?”
“Does it matter?”
“Oh yeah. It matters.”
Oh Schmidt—he has tattoos. He has a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm.
“Um. I think I’ll just get gin and tonic. Thanks, though.” The alarm in my brain is definitely telling my feet to move away from him, but they are not listening.
“Oooh. G & T?” He wrinkles his brow and steps a little closer to me. “At eight o’clock in Brooklyn, alone on a Monday night? I don’t think so. Gin and tonics are for sipping on your yacht at the Hamptons while you’re watching the sunset like an asshole.”
“Oh well I guess that’s what I’ll be drinking tomorrow then.” I cross my arms in front of my chest and face him, wrinkling my brow, mirroring him. “I’ve never watched a sunset like an asshole before. What exactly does that entail?”
He shrugs. “Loafers, no socks, if you’re a guy. Staring at your phone the whole time and twirling your hair if you’re a girl. You don’t seem like a gin and tonic type to me. Not right now, anyway. You look like you need something with a little more personality and muscle.”
My eyebrow arches up. I step away from him. “Uh huh. You know what—I think I’ll just grab a bottle of merlot and call it a night.” I start to wander towards the wine section.
He follows me, not too close. “Oh God, not merlot.”
“Why, is that what assholes drink in Miami at midnight?” Now I’ve said “asshole” out loud twice in one night.Who am I?
He releases a quick, surprisingly boyish laugh—so unexpected from a guy like him. “Not even close. What’s your name? I’m Vince.” He holds his hand out.
“Hi Vince. I’m...Susan.” I shake his hand. It’s strong and a little bit rough and he could do a lot of things to me with that hand.Wait—what?
He lets me pull my hand away, shoves his hands casually into his front pockets as his eyes travel slowly down to my shoes and back up to my glossy pursed lips. “Hi Susan. What’s your real name?”
Oh what the heck.“It’s Nina.”
“Nina.” He nods, accepting that answer. “Hey. How about this—there’s a bar two blocks down called Bitters, you know it?”
“Yeah, I walk by there all the time.”
“I used to work there, why don’t you let me make you a drink. I think I know what you need…”
“Well, thank you for the offer, but I’m not in the mood to get raped or murdered tonight, so…”
Judging from the look on this guy’s freakishly sexy face, no one has ever foregone the opportunity to get roofied by him before. Hey, I get it. He’s very attractive. I would love to stare at his face and other parts of him all night. But I also don’t want to get raped or murdered.
A smile slowly spreads across his face. “Right. Good call, Nina. You don’t know me. Let’s be clear about this—you can watch my hands the whole time.” He holds his hands up. His strong, slightly rough, very capable hands. “I’ll make sure you can see exactly what’s going to be going in you before you decide if you want it or not. Sound good?”
Gulp.
“Hey, Marty,” he calls out to the man behind the counter, hands still raised in front of his chest, eyes still fixed on me. “Tell Nina here I’m a good guy.”
“He’s a pretty good guy.”
“Thanks a lot, Marty.”
I laugh.
He turns his head towards Marty, body still angled towards me. “If anything happens to Nina tonight, you can tell the cops where to find me, right?”
“Leave me outta this, you.”
“You got it.” He smiles at me. He’s got one beautiful smile, this guy, and it fades so fast I have a feeling not many people get to see it. “What do you say, Nina? Two blocks. Neighborhood bar. One drink?”
I wrinkle my nose. “So…Peopledothis? Meet in a store for the first time and then go get a drink?”
He laughs, that brief, surprised laugh of a boy being tickled, before going back to being seriously hot. “Some people. Sometimes.”
I mean…I guess that sounds better than drinking vodka from a bottle alone in my apartment while belting out Patsy Cline songs.
